


Hidden Reunion

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Brothers, Character Undeath, Fallen Angels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9857972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: A dead archangel and a dead traitor walk into a bar.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [River_of_Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_of_Dreams/gifts).



> Another request! Happy to be writing Gadreel again <3

 

* * *

 

The bar is quiet at this time of the day; only a few patrons sit here and there, most of them drinking coffee instead of alcohol. It suits Gadreel, the quiet, the dimly lit atmosphere and the comforting murmur of traffic outside. He doesn't feel trapped here, but neither does he feel exposed: it's a good little hiding hole for him to disappear in and spend the day, maybe a bit of the evening as well, watching the tables slowly fill up as the sun goes down. At night, he prefers his small apartment with the balcony door wide open to let in the city's sounds and the cooling air, even though this far south, it never gets cold, not even during the winter months. All in all, he's quite satisfied with his lot in life, even if it's nothing like he thought it would be. He's no longer an angel - literally, after burning away his grace to save his friend in a last desperate attempt at redemption, which has slipped away from his hands and now landed him in this strange human-like existence. He'll never be one of them, but it hardly depresses him: he enjoys watching more than participating, anyway. And bartending, well, it's what his vessel did. It seems as if those skills remained within the vessel even after Gadreel's existence melted into oneness with it. He's good at it. He likes being good at something, at least.

Gadreel barely raises his gaze when a familiar stranger enters the bar. With a hood covering his face, he could be just about anyone, if not for the faintest glow that resonates with something almost completely buried inside Gadreel's core, and it's that glow which makes him take a second glance. He watches the male move towards him, and their eyes suddenly meet: within them, the distinctive glimmer of grace still shimmers, and it's obvious that they've met before.

A devilish little smirk crosses the angel's features as he seats himself on a stool before Gadreel.

"Make me something sweet," he says and spreads some money over the counter.

Gadreel sweeps it off without looking at it; he's more interested in the other's aura, the waves of energy spiralling around him like he's a pool of water with more endlessly pouring in. And he's terrified, too, knowing that this angel knows him - knows him well - and the disguise he's wearing might not quite be enough to cover his true identity from these keen, ancient eyes. Still, he nods and moves to prepare a drink for him like any other patron. His hands are steady as he pours alcohol over alcohol and serves it to the male with a cherry and a small purple paper umbrella.

"Funny place," the angel says, nodding as he receives his drink; he sips it and seems satisfied with it, although mostly, he just seems indifferent.  
"Why'd you choose this?"

"Choose it?"

"It's almost invisible," the angel says with a chuckle, "And you're good at what you do. Why here?"

Countless reasons.  
"I like the quiet," Gadreel chooses one.

The angel nods.  
"After all the years you spent with nothing but," he says in a thoughtful voice, "I would have thought otherwise. But maybe old dogs don't learn new tricks, and old angels even fewer than dogs."

Slowly, Gadreel raises his eyes and meets the angel's. A strange, almost longing grin remains on the other's face as he looks at Gadreel and examines his features.

"You're aging, Gadreel," he says then, stretching his voice and leaning back as if enjoying this conversation immensely.

Gadreel nods. He doesn't know what else to say to it. It's true: without his grace, he belongs to this body, and the body belongs in this world. It ages like everything bound to earth does, even the mountains growing like a spine in the horizon outside this city.

"I wish for no confrontation, Gabriel," Gadreel says then, "Not only would it be foolish of me to even think I could match an archangel's strength, but I am a mortal now, and my strength is the strength of every other creature of flesh. So if you've come to kill me -"

"Why would I?" Gabriel cuts him off, sounding genuinely, if lazily, curious about it.

For a moment, Gadreel's too taken aback by the response to offer any reason, although they all seem very obvious.

"Because," he finally begins, but Gabriel cuts him off again with a chuckle.

"I'm long past the petty bickering up home, brother," he says and sips his drink, with sugar from the edges of the glass sticking over his lips, "It's why I'm here, now, too. I'm tired of it. Been tired of it for a very, very long time. But you wouldn't know that, now would you, since you've been locked up the entire time the whole place went down the gutter. Oh, well. It just amuses me that here we are, two refugees sitting in a dive, hoping no one recognises us. No, Gadreel, I've had enough. I don't care what you did, or what you've done since. I'm just curious - that's all."

"Curious about me?" Gadreel asks, feeling dumber by the minute; he's got no idea why this archangel would walk into his bar if his intentions were not to end him there.

"Amongst other things," Gabriel agrees and sips his drink again.  
His eyes linger upon Gadreel and he seems more amused by the minute, although Gadreel has no idea why that would be at all.

"What is it that you want?"

"A chat with another escape artist. The world thinks you dead, Gadreel."

Gadreel nods. He lowers his gaze.  
"The same goes for you," he says, suffocating the word _brother_ at the end before it quite makes it on his lips.  
Despite Gabriel's facade of familial interest, he isn't certain they really are on such good terms.

"Why'd you choose this place, really? This place, away from the angels, now that they know who you really stood for?"

"Do they?" Gadreel asks wearily; "Do they really know, or are they just as keen to hold on to their old prejudices as always? I appreciate your kindness, brother, but I am not stupid. I have no home with those of my kind. I will never have again. My crimes are unforgivable, and I have only added to them since I regained my freedom. No. This is where I belong - watching the world. This is my place. It is why I chose it once more, Gabriel. But what about you? Why are you here tonight, why are you showing yourself, despite preferring the same quiet existence as I do?"

"Old dogs and their tricks, Gadreel. I'm a social creature, and there are very few who can bear the sight of me without alerting the media, so to speak, about it."

"But you are hiding."

"In more than a manner of speaking, yes."

"Why?"

Gabriel shrugs.  
"Can you really think of no reason, brother? Does the world seem any less chaotic to you now than it did when, hell, when all of this began? The tides are going wild. After our dear friend and brother Castiel brought us all down here, it's all been one huge mess after the other. Of course, now that you've restored Heaven together... but they'd expect me to take up a leading position. Can you imagine that?"

Gadreel smiles vaguely before turning to cleaning a glass that requires no further polishing whatsoever.  
"So you are avoiding your responsibilities as an archangel," he clarifies in an amused voice.

"Responsibilities? Burdens. I'm avoiding my _burdens_ that I never asked for. And maybe the empty halls, too. Do you know how many of us are dead and gone now? How all the brothers I wished to see peaceful and united are no more, thanks to this little apocalypse that faced our kind since we failed to bring about the real one?"

Gadreel nods slowly, and his smile fades.

"There are few of us left," he agrees, and the words ache into his core.

"Fewer and fewer every day," Gabriel echoes him and drinks again.

They're quiet for a moment.

"So," Gabriel starts again then, dragging his finger over the edge of his glass, around and around; "What's your plan? The time's no longer on your side, my friend."

Gadreel glances at him and a soft huff leaves him. He places the glass back down and stretches his aching neck; just another sign of mortality, another gentle reminder of the truth in Gabriel's words.

"I have no plans. And perhaps that is a blessing: I have nothing further to reach for, no hopes or dreams to send me down yet another path of suffering and destruction. I have my job and my apartment, two places that comfort me. I have a sense of belonging, something I have lacked for years."

"So where do you belong? With people?"

"No. I belong here, at the sidelines of everything: on my own. I have no faction and only my old orders to follow. Once I die, who knows what will come of me? I am now bound to flesh; perhaps the little grace I have left will generate a heaven for me, and I will finally be able to come back home. I have nothing but these sweet dreams to look forwards to. I am happy this way, content; satisfied. But what about you? What are your plans? Do you still long for unity, or has hiding become your second nature?"

Gabriel thinks for a moment.  
"That," he says then, "Is a good question. I suppose that in the end, I do miss home; I miss even the bickering, sometimes. Not the fighting, but the smaller things. The things we could get over together. But those things are gone and really, is there a _home_ left for me up there, anyway?"

"Do you have one here, then?" Gadreel asks him; he finds himself more and more comfortable in the conversation, and the tingling of nervousness has left him almost completely. Surely, if this archangel was here to kill him, or drag him back to prison, he wouldn't waste so much time talking about their plans - or of himself, of all things.

"Well, I did find it amusing to live as a minor god to the good people of this world. Maybe I'll go back to that, who knows? But really; it all seems a little old now. I guess you could say I'm currently inbetween things. Just scouting out for the next big thing. Waiting."

"So you really are on the run still."

"You could say that. I haven't really found a place I'd like to stick to yet. But I do like chasing down guys like you - gives me something to do, something interesting, really. Finding out what all the other outcasts are up to now. You never disappoint, you know?"

"How many others have you tracked down?"

"Some odd ten. Azrael, for one. You know, she was supposedly killed by the fall. Not so much. Our dear sister has simply renounced her old duties as the keeper of the dead and, well, she's a nurse now. Can you believe that?"

Gadreel raises his brows a little.  
"She was never happy with the lot our Father gave her," he says then and picks up another glass.

"No," Gabriel admits, "I guess not. A lot of suffering and pain down that path, too. But someone's gotta keep order with the reapers. And who does that now, with no boss and no rules?"

"So the rumours about Death -"

"True, all true," Gabriel chuckles, "The Winchesters."

"Ah."

With a smirk, Gabriel downs the rest of his drink and places it back down on the table.  
"Anyway," he says then, standing up and digging his pockets for some change, "I should be going now before our combined notoriety brings in any unwelcome guests. Good drink, by the way, you've got some hidden talent in your sleeves after all, barkeep."

Gadreel feels another smile making its way on his features as he sweeps down the money and puts it where it belongs. The first drink he's sold today.

"It was - pleasant to speak with you after such a long time. I am still not sure why you would choose this time and place, or why you seem so forgiving -"

"We've all done our share in this, Gadreel," Gabriel reminds him, "None of us is clean, and I'm not the type to try and soothe my own conscience by taking my guilt out on others. No, enough of that. It was good to speak with you as well, brother."

Gadreel nods.  
"Then," he says a little clumsily, "I wish you a good day."

"To you as well, my friend. To you as well."

 


End file.
